Come Sail Away
by Asher Elric
Summary: The only comany he has is the sand, the warm salt water...and the chance to practice his latin!
1. Come Sail Away

Summary – Soft sand, warm, salty water and a bottle of rum was all he had left for company

Summary – Soft sand, warm, salty water and a bottle of rum was all he had left for company.

Disclaimer – I do not own POTC, the sea shanty is called "Come Sail Away" by Styx. I am borrowing very much without permission but with intentions of giving it back.

**Come Sail Away**

**"I'm sailing away, set an open course for the virgin sea,**

**I've got to be free, free to face the life that's ahead of me,**

**On board, I'm Captain, so climb aboard, **

**We'll search for tomorrow on every shore,**

**And I'll try, oh Lord, I'll try to carry on…"**

His song sunk as the last wisps of black sail was finally out of site and all he had to gaze upon was the sapphire allure of the Caribbean ocean around him. He was soaking wet from the swim, Jack, former Captain Sparrow of the **Black Pearl**, peeled off his coat, boots and weapons. Laying his clothing out to dry, he looked around to see what sort of bleeding island Barbossa (the traitorous cur) had left him on.

"Come sail away with me…" he muttered to the soft breeze that danced around him and dried the droplets of sea water. Softly the breeze spoke to him as a friend and Jack turned his face towards it, in a way, he could still feel the Pearl under his hand. Upon opening his dark eyes once more, the fact that he had been too trusting struck him like a woman scorned like which fury hell hath no.

Captain Jack Sparrow was nothing more than a marooned sailor with nothing but a figurative title of which to cling to like a babe to its mother's breast; clinging to that which would comfort him and give him hope when he could ruffle up none on his own. Such a fact made Jack shiver in disgust. He was more disgusted at himself than at Barbossa, now, standing on the sand, just thinking about it, Jack could understand why.

Greedy little sausages, Cuttlefish were, and such was Barbossa.

Weabling along the shore line, Jack decided that a quick turn about the island would help him catch is barring, and maybe he might find some water or food source. Though, he highly doubted it. Barbossa would have picked an island he knew didn't have either substances.

"Bloody good it'll do that smarmy git!" Jack muttered, "A'er all, I am CAPTAIN JACK SPARROW! I'm more clever than that ol' lout! Just you watch, HECTOR BLEEDING BARBOSSA! I'LL HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A BLEEDING GOLD PLATER!" Jack yelled into the sun set. Of course, nothing but the palm trees, sand, grass, wind, sun, moon and stars heard the man. Personally, they all thought he was mad from the heat all ready.

Muttering to himself, Jack stalked down the coast line, thoughts of what he would have to catch for dinner brought his attention to the middle of the island where the wood itself was located. Thanks to having to grow up with cousins who were rather incapable on camping trips outside the city of Ship Wreck, Jack had usually been delegated the job of catching fish to roast over the fire. Not to mention the fact that he had to set up camp, light a fire and do practically everything else.

Not that he wanted to go on those bloody stupid camping trips. Jack remembered he'd rather stay at Ship Wreck and catch up on all the pirate ships that sailed in. True, he didn't want to be a pirate, but, the old sea dogs told just gruesome stories that Jack had to find out what happened on their current voyage.

As a child, Jack could count the number of times he'd been kidnapped. The one time someone tried to cut off his hand and the time he had almost been sold as salve. His 'father' (though that was still a bit weird for both of them, Teague always did treat Jack like a father would, even for a pirate) had rescued him all those times.

Now, Jack would give anything to see the **Misty Lady** on the horizon. He wanted off the bloody island and he wanted it right that second. Of course, Jack had learned that one had to work for what they wanted, no matter what sort of capacity they found themselves.

Turning inland at last, Jack started humming up his tune. Many had said that he liked to hear himself talk; maybe that was why many people didn't bother listening to him. Now, Jack would have liked to have some sort of company. Anyone to bounce idea's off of. Now, humming, maybe his thoughts would leave him be, at least, the more philosophical ones. Jack hated to get philosophical, even on himself, and yet sometimes he couldn't help it.

"Nullum gratuitum prandium," Jack muttered. He'd have to do something.

In land, he had to laugh his arse off, for not only did Barbossa pick an island with absolutely no food or water, but, the only fruit the island had (besides one coconut tree) were plenty of Mora trees, all of which had rather poisonous fruit which was not good for human consumption.

"Fac me cocleario vomere!" Jack said in astonishment. Maybe, that lout wasn't as stupid as Jack had first thought he was. It made perfect sense! Jack had to admit that he would have probably done the same to Barbossa, given him half the chance. Suffering a bit of sanity here, Jack stopped the laughter at once, no way in hell was he like Barbossa! He'd at least have the decency to leave a bottle of rum besides the pistol and one shot.

Thunder in the distance told Jack that he might be in for a rather daunting night.

--

As the first day of him being made governor of the island faded into night, the rain came. It wasn't a hurricane, thank god, but Jack decided that the middle of the island was the safest place to be. It was hard work making his way to the flimsy protection of the Mora trees, the gales of the angry wind reminded Jack of Torrents, a man who made a deal with Davy Jones and was cursed with a storm following at his heels.

It was nights like these that luck were made, though Jack would rather not get bruises or bumps because of it. However, either way he looked at it, after he tripped on that rock, went sailing into a palm and landing on the ground; of which gave way beneath him. Being knocked out for several hours wasn't such a hard price to pay.

--

"Bugger, bugger and bugger it all again…" Jack muttered. His head hurt as if someone knocked him out with an oar. This of course was just absurd sine there was no company with him and no oars. If there was, he could safely assume there to be a boat of which he could paddle off into the sun set with. And since the whole situation was figurative anyway – he decided that he lost what brain cells he had left and had gone completely insane.

Blearily opening his eyes, Jack looked around. Surprisingly he found himself in a man dug hole. On three sides were wooden shelves of which held the one thing on the island that Jack was obsessed with.

Rum.

He was on a rum runner's island, which meant one thing, the rum runners would have to return. And when they did, Jack would take the opportune moment to bargain with them for passage off the island.

The baubles in his hair were good for more than just decoration, after all.

"Well, waist not wants not," Jack muttered as he got to his feet. He grabbed a bottle and climbed out. Around him, the day had just begun, the storm was far off but he could still hear the thunder in the not so far distance. Finding his jacket and boots, Jack laid them out to once again

Jack got himself some wood to lay out as well, now he would spear some fish, roast them and have some rum for all his troubles. Yes, there was a good wind in the sails.

--

**"I look to the sea, reflections in the waves spark my memory,**

**Some happy, some sad,**

**I think of childhood friends, and the dreams we had,**

**We live happily forever, so the story goes,**

**But somehow we missed out on that pot of gold,**

**But we'll try best we can to carry on…"**

Jack sung softly to himself as he sharpened the edge of a stick with his boot knife. He sat in the sand that was beginning be warmed by the Caribbean sun, yet, the breeze was still cool from the night time storm. Jack was sure that he would be damp for a long while coming. He simply hated being damp, but he needed something to eat. He had to wait for the rum runner's to come to their island.

Jack all ready knew what strand he'd give them as well, a strand of sapphire, quartz and moonstone. Jack had had plenty of offers to by that particular braid off his head. He was glad he had kept it though, it was times like these when wearing such trifles in his hair (no matter how stupid anyone else thought it) would come in handy.

**"A gathering of angels appeared above my head,**

**They sang to me this song of hope, and this is what they said,**

**They said, come sail away, come sail away with me…"**

--

A/N – this is a bit of an interlude for you guy's. I might come back and add to it later, but, I don't have a plot for it. The sea shanty reminded me of Jack straight away after reading it. I thought it was like his theme song or something.

**Glossary – **

Nullum Gratuitum Prandium – There is no free lunch

Fac me cocleario vomere! – Gag me with a spoon!


	2. Death and the Devil

**Part the Second **

Jack whistled to himself as he deftly wielded his knife against the branch that was to become a spear. He had a fire going merrily on the beach and every so often he fed it the grass and other random branches he had found. The midday heat was put off a bit by the south easterly wind. The ocean beamed brightly after the storm of the night before. Jack hoped that he would be able to catch some fish for his dinner.

Of course, he knew that the story would be told of him lying on a beach with nothing but rum and the sun overhead. But, it was not practical at all. He needed to eat. He needed to find a way off this bloody island. He needed some help. Sighing, he stopped his work to take a long drag from the onion bottle at his side. How he wished that just for once he had listened to his father. Captain Teague was a man that you needed to listen to. He had a way about him that showed how wise he was of the world. Of course, Jack being who he was had made the stupid assumption that he knew everything.

If he had put pride away and listened to his old man, he would have realized that Teague was right. Like always. This thought pissed him off to now end and he went back to work on the spear with sheer anger. Of course, most of the anger was directed at him self. He had been stupid, and what was it he always told others? "Don't do anything stupid!"

Groaning, Jack realized what a hypocrite he was. Pirates weren't supposed to be hypocrites, even if the articles forbid them to gamble with cards and money; not steal from another mate, and all other sorts of nonsense.

Not that he would say such allowed. He remembered whenever someone questioned these got shot through the heart if is old man was near enough to hear the complaint. Praying that his father didn't know about these secret thoughts of his, Jack went back to work.

His pistol lay beside him, untouched. He would keep that bullet; he had decided it all ready. He would shoot Barbossa for taking the Pearl. The ship that had been his from the start, it hadn't been Barbossa in that deep, dark place, which urged him to make a bargain with the devil. No, it had been he, Captain Jack Sparrow, who had made the deal. Thirteen years. He had only thirteen years. He needed to get his Pearl back, and fast, then figure out a way to get out of the deal with Davy Jones.

There was so much that Barbossa didn't know, and yet Jack was sure that Barbossa would maroon him anyway, just to rub it in his face. Stroking his beard, Jack looked out to sea. The clear day was calm; it was like any other day for this island, except for its new occupant.

Jack shook his head, deemed the spear ready and got to his feet. The sand was warm under and it felt good to walk into the shallows of the small lagoon. Jack waded out a bit from shore; he stood there for several moments, not moving. He closed his eyes and breathed, just breathed.

The salty breeze blew his dreadlocks away from his face, the beads tinkled against one another, making their own music as they were played with. He felt something swimming by his foot but he did not look down to see. The waves rolled in and out, in and out.

A bird called above him and Jack sprung. On the end of his spear was a decent sized fish. Going still again, Jack waited longer for the ocean life to start living again before he deftly caught another fish. He then waded back to shore where he wrapped the fish in two giant palm leaves and put them under the coals of his fire. They would cook there for a bit while he opened up a coconut.

"_Fifteen men on a dead man's chest_

__

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum

Drink and the devil had done for the rest

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum.

The mate was fixed by the bosun's pike

The bosun brained with a marlinspike

And cookey's throat was marked belike

It had been gripped by fingers ten;

And there they lay, all good dead men

Like break o'day in a boozing ken

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum…"

The waves that had once been calm before he had begun the shanty, now came in faster, as if they felt his ire and anger at the situation.

"_Fifteen men of the whole ship's list_

__

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

Dead and be damned and the rest gone whist!

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!

The skipper lay with his nob in gore

Where the scullion's axe his cheek had shore

And the scullion he was stabbed times four

And there they lay, and the soggy skies

Dripped down in up-staring eyes

In murk sunset and foul sunrise

Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum…"

Wishing that he could see the up-staring eyes of the bloody cur that left him here, not to mention stole his ship and his dignity, Jack strike at the coconut with all the strength that his anger fueled; drinking the milk slowly as to not make him self sick, Jack contemplated the scenery around him. He would build a bigger fire and hopefully be able to barter his way off the island.

"_Fifteen men of 'em stiff and stark_

_Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!_

_Ten of the crew had the murder mark!_

_Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum!_

_'Twas a cutlass swipe or an ounce of lead_

_Or a yawing hole in a battered head_

_And the scuppers' glut with a rotting red_

_And there they lay, aye, damn my eyes_

_Looking up at paradise_

_All souls bound just contrawise_

_Yo ho ho and a bottle of rum…."_

Jack imagined each of theses deaths upon Barbossa, ten fold. Now, all he had to do was wait. Revenge would come. He would never forget and he would never forgive.

_ _ _

a/n – I want to do my own rendition of the how Jack got off the island. *lol* I have a pretty good idea.

Fifteen Men on a Dead Man's Chest – written by Allison and Waller in 1901, the song was based off of Robert Lewis Stevenson's book "Treasure Island".

The Onion Bottle is a historical rum bottle. We see Elizabeth use it in POTC1 when she and Jack are marooned.

Find my Sweeney Todd reference! *lol*


End file.
